Come Monday

Last time we spoke I told you that we received word on the first apartment we submitted our dossier to. We got the apartment, but since it was a Friday we couldn’t make it official until Monday. Which meant the second apartment we submitted to could still decide to accept our dossier. I had pretty much made up my mind that the first apartment would be our new home, but TGB really wanted that second. So… Monday arrives and our relocation specialist tells us we have until the close of business to accept the first apartment, but in the meantime she will nudge the second guy to at least give us an answer. At that point I still figured that we would be rejected because they had another couple already interested and, well, I didn’t want to get my hopes up.

In the meantime we walked down to our corner cafe, sat outside, smoked, drank some coffee and ordered lunch. There were two English speaking girls – high school age – sitting at the next table. They weren’t American – they had an accent I couldn’t place. They were discussing Louis XIV and French history at the time of his reign. I imagined my nieces coming to visit and doing something similar. Music playing went from The Police to Elton John to Johnny Cash to something I only knew I could dance to. It was sublime.

Food came and we watched the people walk by and talked about the pros and cons of each apartment. I knew TGB really wanted that second apartment. Hell, I did too, just not enough to be disappointed if we didn’t get it.

Food was gone, tiramisu was ordered and I said, open the map on your phone and let’s just pick a place.

She shows me her map and says, let’s go here.

I saw the cemetery but missed entirely the very specific map marker. Then I saw it. Jim Morrison’s grave. I lit up and said, oh hell yes!

We paid for lunch and walked. There were 53 minutes left in the business day. I was resigned, but TGB was, well, a little sad.

We got to the cemetery and it was beautiful. I know that may be an odd thing to read for some of you, but that is exactly what it was.

And the ever present ravens cawing the entire time added a little something Poe-esque to the entire endeavor. I loved it. I want to go back at night and hang out with the ghosts.

It was almost closing time when the *ding* let TGB know she had a new message. And, well…

I think she’s a little happy.

Postscript – One last thing before I go. I took a photo, but didn’t share it. It’s of a young woman named Suzon Garrigues who died when she was 21. She was one of the victims of Bataclan. It stopped us in our tracks. I’m telling you because I know you’ll want to go see Jim Morrison’s grave, or maybe even Edith Piaf, or Oscar Wilde – and I get it and you should – but, take some time to find Suzon’s grave and take a moment just to imagine what her life might have been. TGB says, and I believe her, that when we talk about the people who have died, when we remember them, it keeps some part of them alive. And the next time you’re at a show, look around. Everyone else there has someone who would be crushed if they didn’t make it home so, maybe try and look out for each other a little more, you know?

©2024 Rudy Martinez